


seven stars, upright - 7KPP Week 2017

by AwayLaughing



Category: Seven Kingdoms: The Princess Problem (Visual Novel)
Genre: 7KPP Extended Demo Spoilers, Backstory, Complicated Relationships, Dreams and Nightmares, Duty, Dysfunctional Relationships, Eventual Romance, F/M, Family, Gen, In This House We Appreciate Jasper, Major Life Decisions, Marriage, Moral Dilemmas, Murder Mystery, One-Sided Attraction, Original Character Death(s), Personal Growth, Platonic Romance, Politics, Secrets, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-01-17 21:36:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12374583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwayLaughing/pseuds/AwayLaughing
Summary: The trick to surviving is perserverance. The things you lose, the things you dream of, the secrets you keep. Stick to them, and it just might pay off.Or,I finally get around to uploading my 7KPP week works. Features a mixture of MCs and supporting characters.note: here there be spoilers for anything in the non-Alpha demo (to which I do not have access)





	1. Daughter of the Desert

Pippa peered out the curtain of the carriage and tried not to look to interested in what was happening. They had left the imperial city only four days ago, and already they were approaching the end of the imperial highway. Or at least, the end of the part they paid to keep up in its entirety. She knew it had been built to cut across Corval in all four directions – one from the northern coast to the southern mountains, another from east to west. The desert was brutal though, wearing it away as if they’d built it in an ocean.

 

“Enjoying the view, little bird?”

 

Pippa immediately dropped the curtain, turning back to her mother. It was rare they were so alone together outside of their rooms, but it was also rare that they left the imperial city, let alone with so few chaperones. Indeed, only a handful of the guards – handpicked by her mother at the Empress’s discretion and with the Emperor’s blanket approval – and the second prince were to stay with them once they reached wherever they were staying tonight.

 

The prince was a bit exciting actually – not as a person because he wasn’t at all – but because it meant the Emperor and Empress really wanted this to go well. Well, not well. It was her grandfather’s funeral, but they wanted to show their respect. True, he wasn’t the crown prince but if prince Soheil was a bit on the boring side, then prince Aamdir was far too interesting for this. Doubly so prince Zarad. Or that's what Jessa had said, anyway.

 

“This is where you grew up, mama?” she asked and her mother laughed, shaking her head.

 

“No,” she said. “We are going far deeper into the desert. There are no roads, where I was born. The dunes are the same, I suppose,” she peered out her own desert. If she meant to say anything else, though, something must have distracted her. Memory, probably. Her mother was prone to that, Pippa had learned as a very little girl, but her mother was also disciplined enough not to let it happen anywhere dangerous.

 

There were so many dangerous places in the Inner Palace.

 

* * *

 

 

They did not stop when night fell, though they did take a break to stretch their legs as the sun was setting. The sand beneath her feet was still hot, and Pippa amused herself by dancing about as she studied everything. One of the guards – a young man with a beard that was trying very, very hard and soft brown eyes, laughed as she went by. She laughed back, and met her mother’s eyes, dancing like she was.

 

“You’re a charmer, my love,” she said, “come back inside. We’d like to be at the way station before supper.”

 

“Charmer?” Pippa asked, dutifully ducking back into the carriage.

 

“Indeed my love,” mama said. “You’re very easy to love.”

 

Pippa coloured a bit at that. “Mama,” she said softly, and jolted as the carriage started back up. She did not fall, but she did have to steady herself. Mama laughed.

 

“Charming, but not the most graceful daughter I could have.”

 

“Mama!”

 

* * *

 

 

There was not much to say about the way station, really. It was exactly the same as every other one on the highway – a single stone building with stables and a few spare rooms for travellers. Only four men lived here year out, she’d learned, and they were switched out every two years, except for one man.

 

“Why don’t you switch out?” Pippa asked him over supper. The other three were sitting with mama and the prince, but Pippa had joined this man in his little table in the corner. Not entirely proper, no, but mama could see her as could the guards, the prince and the resident cat. Indeed, the cat was currently seated on her foot, presumably waiting for scraps.

 

“I like it here,” he said. “The sky is wide open, it is silent except the sands. The new people bring me new books when they come, they old ones take one as they go so I do not get bored,” he said. “I like it.”

 

“Oh,” she said. “You don’t get lonely?”

 

“No,” he said. “The quiet is nice. The city is too much. Colour, smells, sounds.”

 

“What about a village?” she asked and he shook his head.

 

“People are too much, after too long,” he said. “This is best.”

 

Pippa nodded, still intrigued but knowing when a conversation was done. Mama said it was a knack and that she should keep cultivating it. Talents were wasted on the lazy, mama and lady Mara both said.

 

Outside of that, the night was normal. Pippa let the laughing guard drag her out to brush the horses and she talked with him as the prince took care of his horse. He never said a word to them, instead speaking softly to his horse and Pippa focused on getting to know the guard. He was knew to the palace contingent and very honoured to be asked to escort a prince, especially so far.

 

After that, she’d gone back inside and cleaned up with mama, and then been bustled off to sleep.

 

“We wake with the sun, little bird,” her mother said. “So sleep while you can.”

 

“Yes mama. I love you.”

 

“I love you too, little bird.”

 

* * *

 

 

They were up before the sun, really. It was teasing the edge of the farthest dunes when she shuffled outside with her mother. She would have shivered in the lingering cold, except seeing a host of unfamiliar men in the courtyard startled her so much she forgot to. Looking up at her mother, she was surprise to see her mother did not look worried.

 

One of the men stepped forward, smiling widely. “Roshan?” he asked. Her mother nodded, and then the impossible happened.

 

She hugged him.

 

“Mama?” she asked, eyes wide.

 

“Mama?” the man asked. “You had children?”

 

“Just Pippa,” her mother said, “Pippa, come meet your youngest uncle.”

 

Pippa blinked, but did step forward, curtseying. Her uncle, now back lit by the rising sun, bowed back. When he came back up from his bow he addressed someone over her head. “Are you my brother in law, then?” he asked. Pippa turned and promptly giggled.

 

“That’s the prince,” she said. “He is not old enough to be my father, and I am only a lady. Good morning your highness.”

 

Prince Soheil looked at her, amber eyes as serious as ever. “Good morning lady Pippa,” he said. “You are lady Roshan’s brother?”

 

Her uncle bowed again. “Hadi, youngest son of chief Lutfu may he rest forever, at your service.”

 

Prince Soheil nodded. “I am honoured to meet you, Hadi son of Lutfu,” he said. Then he walked into the stable. Everyone left over watched him in mild bemusement and finally her mother took charge.

 

“Come, Hadi, help me get Pippa ready for travel.”

 

* * *

 

They stopped once the sun became too hot, her uncle and his men erecting tents quickly, some even tall enough to shade the horses. Despite the heat and the early hour, Pippa found she wasn’t tired. While her mother retired, she set up near the edge of the tent, watching the desert. It was completely still out there, in a way that was rare in the Inner Court, and impossible to find in the city.

 

“What do you think of our mother, hm?”

 

Pippa looked up, not having realized her uncle was in the tent, and not all sure how she could have missed him. He was even darker than her mother – due to so much time in the sun – with greener eyes but the same nose and smile. Honestly she did not know what to think of him outside of that. She was not used to having any family other than mama.

 

“My mother’s not a sand dune,” she said, gesturing to the sleeping woman. Her uncle laughed softly and folded into a sitting position next to her.

 

“Not literally, no,” he said. “But she is a child of this great desert all the same. And as she is, so are you. Thus my question remains, what do you think of our mother?”

 

Pippa pursed her lips as she thought. “She’s very beautiful,” she said finally. “And very quiet.” She had other thoughts, too, but wasn’t certain how to put it into words. One because she just didn’t have the words, but also because she didn’t think, even she had them, her mouth could form them. She had not been raised to speak without thinking. “I like her.”

 

“As do I,” he said. “Though she is also merciless, and utterly wild.”

 

“Is wild a bad thing, even here?” she asked and he cocked his head.

 

“Is wild a bad thing where you’re from, little sister?” he asked. She nodded.

 

“Yes. You can’t even run in the Inner Palace, much less be a desert.”

 

“Ah,” he said, rubbing his chin. Most of the men had giant bushy beards, but his was short and trim. He said nothing after that and she settled against him slightly to relax. He looked down at her, and she smiled up at him getting one back. She didn’t know how much time passed, but the next time either spoke mama was still asleep and no one had left any of the other tents.

 

“I still find ways,” she said and he made an enquiring noise.

 

“To run,” she explained. “You just have to be sneaky.”

 

“Are you sneaky, little sister?” he asked. She sighed.

 

“Lady Calla says my hair makes it impossible,” she said. Her uncle laughed, and tugged at her braid. Mama had insisted on it for the trip. “I usually keep it loose,” she said. “But mama said the sand would never leave if I did that out here.”

 

“The sand will never leave you anyhow,” he said.

 

“Because I’m her daughter?” she asked. He smiled again.

 

“You learn quickly,” he said and she giggled.

 

“You’ve mentioned it enough,” she said.

 

Outside, the wind shifted, and sand danced past them in a violent flurry. Watched it, enthralled and thought she maybe did not mind have a second mother, one like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Week one prompt - past


	2. Clothed in Lambskin

Yaen’s hands were shaking when she set the letter down. Across from her, Jiro watched, a frown on his face. “Is everything alright, Eni?” he asked, “your parents-”

 

“Are fine. They sent me a letter yesterday, they’re enjoying my aunt’s estates in the city,” she said, interrupting him. “It is a letter from the emperor.”

 

“What?” he asked, sitting up. A rarity, really, which defied belief given his passion for anatomy. “Why is he contacting you?”

 

“Well, it’s not really him,” she admitted. “It’s from his office. It’s orders.”

 

Jiro’s eyebrows climbed higher toward his hairline. “Orders to what? Join the navy?”

 

“Yes Jiro, they want someone with no depth perception to join our army,” she said. “Don’t be an idiot Jiro, it doesn’t suit you.”

 

Jiro’s response was to stand and cross the room. Gently, he tugged her into a stand and wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on her shoulder. “Sheath your claws, Yaen,” he said. “I was just teasing, the emperor no doubts wants you to come and replace all the vases in the palace with your own work, or-”

 

“I’m to join the summit in five weeks time,” she said. “Jiya had married admiral Malle’s youngest son, and retired to one of their estates.”

 

The pressure of his arms around her didn’t change, but he stopped breathing. Yaen waited. Finally he took a deep breath. “Did they say why you?”

 

“Jiya’s a respected poet, I’m a scultper. Close enough. Most of our cousins are male, married or too young. I’m the most logical choice because I am the only choice.”

 

“No. The 11th place tester would be the most logical choice, or the 12th or the...the 50th – you didn’t place that high did you? Did you even take the test?”

 

“You know I didn’t,” she said. “Neither of us did, we ate bonbons and got uproariously drunk at noon that day.”

 

“That is not all we did,” he said, and she could hear he was smiling again. Gently, she extracted herself from his grasp. “Is there a chance to turn it down?”

 

“No,” she said. “Even if I did convince them to take someone else, my parents would be ruined. My brothers would be shunned – possibly even forced out of their school. Lien’s marriage contract would certainly fall through-”  


“Okay Yaen. Okay,” he said. “Don’t keep listing, you’ll give yourself a heart attack. Deep breath.” She did as told, keeping her eyes locked on his. He smiled softly. “We can figure this out. We’ll spend the next five weeks researching everyone and everything you’ll need to know, you can arrange something there without getting married. I’ll get Dieu to host us in the capital so we can use the national archives.”

 

“Of course,” she said.

 

“I’ll write the letter now,” he said. She watched him all but run off, face passive.

 

* * *

 

 

The next morning, without saying goodbye to Jiro, she returned to her family home on the coast.

 

* * *

 

 

“Don’t you know how to knock?” Yaen asked as Jiro entered her room. It had been three weeks and several letters since she left. Honestly she was more surprised it had taken him this long.

 

“Don’t you know how to write?” he snapped back. “Or pick up a book? You mother says you’ve done barely anything except read up on the delegates, and even then only because she begged you to! At this rate you’re going to have to hope Arland has completely lost the plot. If you won’t study than let me help you. You could just do what Jiya did I-”

 

“Jiro. Stop.”

 

Though his voice had gotten consecutively louder with each word, Jiro did stop. For a long moment the silence stretched between them.

 

“I just want to you to come home,” he said finally, voice soft. She flinched.

 

“I know. I don’t know that I can, though,” she said. “And...” she trailed off.

 

It was true she had not been productive in the traditional sense over these last three weeks. Mostly she had been thinking of Jiro. Jiro was her oldest friend, someone she had once thought she would live her whole life with. She had never thought hard on that, though, not until now. Maybe she never would have, either, had the summit not come knocking.

 

Because thinking on it had made her realize why she’d never done so before. It left a bitter taste in her mouth and tears in her eyes. She’d thought she’d cried them all out but they were here again. Angrily she dashed them away.

 

“Eni?” he asked, hand coming to cup her cheek. “Don’t cry Eni, you know it breaks my heart.”

 

That just made her cry harder. “What does that matter?” she managed to ask between sobs. “I’m going to break it anyway.”

 

“Oh Yaen,” he said, and pulled her into a hug. “You don’t have too. We could go anywhere. I’d take you anywhere.”  


Yaen grit her teeth and buried her face in his shoulder. “I know,” she said. “But I’m going to break it anyway.”

 

* * *

 

 

Two weeks later she was seeing her parents off. Her brothers had come, her sister had not.

 

Jiro had not.

 

She really hadn’t expected him. Not in her heart of hearts, but selfishly she had wanted him to come all the same. He would have, too, had she contacted him and asked. She was not that cruel though. Chasing him off two weeks ago had been agony for them both, but it was far kinder than letting him think there was hope.

 

Letting herself think there was hope.

 

“Are you well, dear?” her mother asked, “you seem distracted.”

 

“Sorry mother,” she said. “Was there anything else you needed, before I board?”

 

“No,” her mother said. “You packed your magnifying glass?”

 

“Of course mother,” she said. “Anything else?”

 

“Do well,” her mother said. “You represent Jiyel, as well as your family now.”

 

“Of course mother,” she said. With that she knelt to hug her two little brothers, Hien pressed a tiny wooden figure into her hand.

 

“I made it for you,” he said, “it’s good luck.”

  
She almost said she did not believe in luck, but reigned herself in. She was not going to see her little brothers again for...maybe a very long time. Maybe ever. Their last memories would not be of her correcting them, or rebuking them.

 

“Thank you, Hien. I think I will need it,” she said.

 

She did not say that even if there was luck out there, it did nothing to shield from duty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For day 2 - Sacrifice


	3. Tell me, and I'll requite it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aurora and Jasper take a moment to recover, before the day can throw anything new at them.
> 
> For the "Dreams" prompt.

Aurora pressed her hands to the desk, willing them to stop shaking as she stared out the window. The sun was not yet up, but she reckoned it wouldn’t be long as the sky was slightly lighter near the horizon. She’d already checked outside – the halls were empty. She hadn’t even spotted any of the early morning staff fluttering around, getting things ready for the day. It reminded her of the early mornings in Namaire, and she found herself wishing for the dramatic mountain-scape, the way they stood stark black-and-white against the early morning sky. The large, carefully tended fauna of the garden did not compare.

Behind her, the door opened with barely a whisper. It was only because she was...agitated that she noticed. “Jasper?” she said, a little taken aback. “Even you should still be in bed at this hour.”

“I should say the same, my lady,” he said. He was laden with a breakfast tray, and despite herself Aurora found herself fighting a smile at the sheer incongruity.

“Don’t tell me you’ve been demoted,” she said. He offered her a smile – one that was belayed by the deep shadows under his eyes.

“No my lady, I am still your butler,” he said. There was an emphasis there that made her spine stiffen in some unfamiliar emotion. Something like surprise – a distant, country cousin maybe. For a moment they just looked at one another, and finally she smiled.

“I never doubted you, Jasper,” she said. “Now do put down that tray – have you been the one bringing breakfast?” She ought to have known – Ria had seemed surprised by the extra plates the first day. Of course if so, then what about the other morning? She did not for a moment believe he would try and bribe her to throw the trial. That meant either he’d brought breakfast, seen the one provided and for some reason just accepted it. Or, someone had come in after him and taken the one he brought.

The thought unsettled her – and upset her. More than the presumptive bribe did, certainly. She did have to wonder thought, at his own motivations. Fear of poison – or fear of the bribes that had already happened? Did Jasper think there was enough truth in the stories of the Baroness Namaire that she would be swayed by money at the expense of a life?

“I have been trying, my lady,” he said. Her emotions must have shown on her face – sloppy – because his own tightened slightly. “It is not an imposition, my lady. Do not fret.”

“You look exhausted, so fret I shall,” she said, “my time table permitting, anyway.”

“Very good, my lady,” he said. “Is that why you are awake now, my lady? Making room in your time table.”

The question killed any of the witty responses sitting on her tongue. Despite herself, she deflated slightly. “Something in that realm, anyway,” she said. Her hands had stopped shaking during the conversation, at least and she finally lifted them off her desk so she could turn completely, setting her hands on her lap. Jasper took the space to slide the desk into place. As he made to draw back she stopped him, with the lightest of touches to his clothed forearm. “Sit, Jasper,” she said, she eyed the window. “Until sunrise – it’s always faster than you’d guess.”

For a long moment he just stared at her, and it wasn’t until his expression shifted that she lifted her hand.

Words sat in her throat, stuck there. A tongue that wasn’t used to forming them sat heavy in her mouth. Finally she managed, “please. For me.” A rare request – Aurora was never for Aurora. There was always a greater force at work – family, the needs of an estate, the protection of people playing dangerous political games without any shield except the power she could carve out. Even her butler wasn’t entirely for her – beholden to an ancient order with alien demands.

Jasper’s eyes were boring into her. The violet was so unusual, lit strangely in the half life of twilight that she found it impossible to look away, even if she’d wanted to. But as she was never for her – she was never intimidated either. “Very well,” he said, voice almost a whisper.

He quickly gathered the nearest chair, sitting in it stiffly. It was not the stiffness of the uncomfortable, or irritated. It was that of a person who had been in so much motion that now, presented with a relaxed state they found their body unable to recall what it should be doing. She had experienced it often, long before she married a strange ghost.

_“Lady Aurora?” her name echoed in the hall, and the unfamiliarity of the title and the way the emptiness echoed in this strange place meant she didn’t recognize it. Not until he was in the doorway. “Lady Aurora,” he said again. “You’re needed.”_

_“Where?” she asked. He came closer, hand landing on her shoulder. “Ulyss?”_

_The hand slips down her shoulder – down her arm, pulling her up by the elbow, flush to him. “You are need – you have responsibilities.”_

“Do you want to talk about it?” Jasper’s voice cut through the lingering memory, glued to her mind by her emotions where most dreams failed when reality asserted itself.

“No,” she said, “it was just a bad dream, about a trauma that never happened.”

“Perhaps it did, just not in the way the dream presented it,” he said. She eyed him.

“Speaking from experience?” she asked. He sipped his tea.

“Maybe,” he said in a startling act of transparency. “Or maybe the castle is restless.”

“Maybe,” she agreed. I hope it passes, she considered saying. What did you dream about? She wanted to ask. Instead she turned back to the window, and watched the sun as it made its inexorable climb into the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title's from Shakespeare's Henry VI, and an exchanged between Gloucester and the Duchess where she offers to soothe his bad dreams if he shares it. Alas, our leads cannot bring themselves to engage in such an exchange, and so they will keep their upsets with them, morning tea or not.
> 
> This is a newer version of the previous "dreams" fill that can be found under /tagged/7kppweek on my blog, awayandlaughing. When I wrote that one, Aurora was still on Zarad's romance path, but now she's on the observer path, defying expectation more explicitly than she's ever done and a little anxious about it despite usually being Aurora the Unshakable ~~and ofc she's wooing the butler~~


	4. the value in the keeping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Pippa of Corval is given a choice which is not a choice, and plans a party.

Pippa watched Jasper leave, her face blank as her mind raced. Of course her butler was part of an ancient order beholden to record history without bias – why would it be any other way? Honestly she had known something was afoot – never mind that little scene in the library two weeks ago. Sighing, she buried her face in her hands and tried to sort everything out. First though, it meant putting her mysterious cliff side informant from her mind. Not the easiest task, especially given his likely history with Jasper himself, but it was still a doable one. For now.

Even ignoring that, there were concerns. Well of course there were concerns, this summit had turned out to be nothing but concerns upon more concerns with some flirting and assassination attempts for flavour. Saying there were concerns was silly – more like, she had questions as well as concerns. Was this related to that gift, last week from her mysterious benefactor? Jasper, she was quite certain, had not been expecting it and it sounded like exactly the opposite thing his group would do – and besides he and Yvette had both given her things. No, that was a third party. Who then? 

While certainly not her only question, that one did account for the most pertinent ones. Which left concerns.

Namely, Jasper and her mother. She didn’t think he knew about her personal trouble maker, and as such doubted he knew he’d put her in a tight spot. Indeed, she was almost positive that if he’d known he would have found some oblique way to mention he knew. Though, he was the subtlest person she’d ever met...and either way, Pippa in no way blamed Jasper. He had not put her in a tight spot, she had put herself there. 

Pippa did not have to be nosy, it was a flaw she had cultivated, much to her current chagrin. She easily could have kept walking, or just apologized to Jasper and told him she would keep what she heard to herself and not think on it further.

It would have protected Jasper, in a passive sense even if it did nothing for her mother. It all came down to that damn blackmailer. At first it had not seemed so bad – trading secrets for her mother’s life was no real problem, especially when the secrets were not hers. It had quickly grown more complicated than that however. People were involved in things Pippa had only gotten glimpses of, but she knew deep down those things were dangerous, and Pippa cared for many of these people. 

It had been a fool’s dream to think she wouldn’t run into this issue, anyhow, but Pippa had been called foolish more than once.

“Ah Pippa, what have you gotten yourself into?” she asked aloud. Naturally, there was no response and she stood, more for something to do than anything. She saw before her only two paths – to comply, and thus betray explicitly given trust, or to fight back and risk...everything.

Funny how things as complicated as assassination attempts and rigged murder trials were so easy to handle, and something as simple as morality could be so hard. Pippa had seen the struggle first hand countless times – her mother, her aunts, her allies, her enemies. Most everyone had their limits, even in Corval, but she’d seen them crossed because it was easier to do wrong and stay hidden than to lift your chin do what was right, but have no place to hide once you’ve done so. Pippa had been blessed, in that sense, as she’d never until now hit that moment. Smuggling away silly poets and sad princesses was simplicity itself on all fronts – it was right, it wasn’t particularly hard to pull off and any fall out would have been minimally unpleasant for a short amount of time.

This though – people could die. People she loved more than anything. Was Jasper worth her mother? She only thought on it for a second before rejecting the question as ridiculous. Of course he was. Jasper had protected and helped her in these four weeks in a manner almost exactly similar to what her mother would have done in the same amount of time. She did not doubt, either, he would continue to do so. And unlike her mother, after only four weeks Jasper had trusted Pippa with at least one of his greatest secrets. Her mother’s secrets were still mysteries to Pippa, or could only be guessed at. She didn’t think it was a question of trust of course but either way she could never-

“Oh gods all damn,” she said as she realized exactly what she was thinking.

She could never betray that trust.

“Gods all damn,” she said again, because it made her feel better. And because here - a secret had fallen into her lap that was likely worth a good portion of her mother's good health just by itself. It was like being gifted seawater in the desert - demented and useless. Except she could use it, and just wasn't going to and this was all her own fault in the first place.

For a moment she considered hunting down Hamin and asking him to make good on his kidnapping threats. Then she sighed, forced herself to let go of her pique and tried to think.

Tracking down her mysterious blackmailer was going to require any number of very careful questions. The traders were a dead end – bless them for trying though. Her contacts in the city would be watched, and there was no way to get any information to her contacts outside the city. Not to mention they would be useless – her uncles were not exactly politically minded and the middle of the desert was not a great place to stumble on information. Getting a letter to Constance was too risky – it would not be overly suspect as she’d sent one in her first week – but endangering her too honest friend was not appealing. There was Ashun...she paused on that one.

A letter to him would certainly get attention somewhere, but if the contents were right people would ignore it, and he would immediately know something was afoot. He would go to her mother though, and Pippa wasn’t ready for that.

Which left her with one option.

At least this option did not include any letters, yet. And she had to go to the kitchens anyway – in all the fuss she had entirely forgotten to ask Jasper to get a tea arranged for tomorrow afternoon. Pippa took a moment to consider what he was going to say tomorrow morning once he found out she’d gone an arranged it herself, and then she shook her head.

He was doing entirely too much right now as it was – if she could arrange a welcoming party for Constance in a measly eight days and please even Prince Aamdir, she could arrange an informal tea.

Well. Now she had a plan:

1\. Talk to Mrs. White and arrange tea, get spare pastry  
2\. Bribe stable boy  
3\. Entrust life threatening information to someone whose heart she had broken two days past  
4\. Prove Imogen’s innocence to a jury than included Lord Blain  
5\. Find blackmailer and deal with them appropriately

For a long moment she mulled over the list and some of the seeming impossibilities on it. Then she stood. Some of that might be nearly impossible, but she’d deal with those when they came. For now, she’d focus on what she could do. Arrange a party, and keep the secrets of those around her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For day 4 - present where I loosely use the prompt and mush together different scenes to suit my narrative goals. Again.
> 
>   
>  ~~and where I show of my blatant favourtism for both Pip and Jasper. Oops~~  
> 
> 
> Title is a reference to a quote from Sarah Gruen's "Water for Elephants": With a secret like that, at some point the secret itself becomes irrelevant. The fact that you kept it does not.


	5. Come as you are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Princess Zinnia of Arland faces a shadowy murder and wonders at how four short weeks can change so very much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for week 4, **do not read** if you haven't played it

It was, Zinnia though, possible she had gone mad. Otherwise, this made no sense. Was she really going to meet a potentially dangerous someone on a misty clifftop where she had already almost died? Not just potentially dangerous, someone who was probably a murderer, or in...in cahoots with one. The answer was yes, which meant she was correct, and had gone mad at some point without noticing up until now. After all, Princess Zinnia of Arland did not do those things. She did not do these things in isolation – especially without a chaperone – let alone all at the same time.

 

Then again, Princess Zinnia did not make biscuits and give them all to incorrigible pirate pseudo-princes. Princess Zinnia did not sneak into nearly-convicted murderess’s bedrooms to comfort them; did not break into crime scenes; did not spy on her own servants.

 

“ _I hope you haven’t gotten involved in anything dangerous, Zinnia.”_

 

Princess Zinnia, daughter of the king of Arland did not, under any circumstance ever even consider marrying Arlish Earls.

 

But Princess Zinnia was going to marry an Arlish Earl, and did give – in a manner of speaking – pirate princes handmade biscuits so maybe she was the sort of person who met suspicious peoples on misty clifftops. She swallowed a nervous giggle and took another step. Then another, and another until she had reach the exactly place where she had known she was going to die, for those few seconds it had seemed inevitable.

 

Looking over the edge,into the inky, churning darkness below she thought she owed Prince Zarad more than a miniature sky.

 

Behind her, a stick snapped, in a manner that seemed to Zinnia, admittedly not much of a woodswoman, distinctly not natural. She tensed, but she didn’t jump, or even tear her eyes away from the waters far below. They were white, where they churned against the rocks.

 

“Here I thought you wouldn’t show.”

 

The voice was familiar, but because she didn’t turn it took a moment to place it. At the periphery of her vision he was a dark figure with a shock of white hair. Of course – the servant who had waylaid her just a few days ago when Jasper had disappeared and come back so very ruffled. Oh if Jasper could see them now. She couldn’t begin to envision how ruffled he would be over this. It was possible he would never let her out of his sight again. Assuming he wasn’t here now...

 

But she was getting away from herself. Squaring her shoulders, she staunchly refused to turn to him. He might have all the cards, but she was still a princess. If he wanted to stand face to face, he could accommodate her.

 

“I am beholden by both my honour and my duty to serve Imogen to the best of my ability. If that includes unsavoury meetings in inclement weather, then I shall do so.”

 

“Usually I would not question a lecture on duty from an Arlish princess, however you’ve rather abandoned yours, haven’t you?”

 

Zinnia’s nursemaids used to remark on her temper. It was unbecoming, unladylike and would make her unmarriageable and thus useless as she aged. As such, she had long gotten a hold of it and so she easily suppressed the urge react. It included biting the side of her cheek but it worked.

 

“I can see how someone with a less intimate knowledge of Arland would get confused. Or someone of...less careful breeding,” she said, keeping her chin raised. “Did you have something you actually wanted, good sir, or were you just here for repartee?”

 

He finally moved more or less into her line of sight. They were both looking over the sea, for now.

 

“Isn’t it more to do with what you have to say to me, than I to you?” he asked.

 

Zinnia stayed silent for a long moment. She kept her face blank, eyes fixed on the white waters. She knew her expression was vapid; another lesson from her nursemaids – don’t let them know what you’re thinking. Don’t let them know you’re thinking at all, actually. A thinking wife was only an asset to certain kinds of men, after all. Best to hedge your bets.

 

But sod it, her nursemaids weren’t here.

 

“You’ve murdered a servant,” she said slowly, “the one who murdered lord Alaric, and who almost murdered me.”

 

He raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?” he asked and she squared her shoulders a touch more.

 

“It is,” she said. “You used the same method he would have used on me, and then tried to frame her highness Princess Gisette for his murder.” There was no uncertainty, no nerves in her voice.

 

No Princess of Arland.

 

Just Zinnia as she was now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 7kPP Week - Day 5, Growth


	6. The Wolves at the Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Constance's first daylight hours in the Corvali Imperial palace are a whirlwind, to say nothing else.

Constance’ breath froze in her throat as the city palace came into view. At her side, Aamir’s mouth slanted into something you might call a smirk, which was as close to a smile she’d gotten since their betrothal was finalized.

“It is quite something, isn’t it?” he asked.

“Yes, your highness,” she said. It dwarfed the Arlish palace in the capital, and made the Summer Palace look quaint in comparison. Not for the first time since they’d landed she was reminded of the vast wealth of the Empire and those who ruled it.

“The first king, after the Revairin empire fell had their palace taken apart brick by brick,” he waved a hand out his window. “And laid the roads of his new capital with them.”

A quick glance told her the streets were normal cobblestone, and her instinct said the story was not exactly true. Corval under the Empire had languished, tribes using the hostile desert to splinter off and carve out vast tracks of sand and mountain for themselves, or retreating to islands where they waged war like pirates against any and all. As such the old capital had been much further north – at the base of the mountains on the trade routes. Now the capital sat a few days travel inland, nearly in the centre of its coastline. A sparkling river flowed through it, carving out a green valley flanked by seemingly endless sand. How it passed through the desert she did not know – she supposed there was a lake near enough.

“How symbolic,” she said instead of any of her thoughts. He scoffed.

“No opinions of your own?” he asked, and she met his gaze with as much calm as she could. “Of course not – what did the Arlish do when Revaire fled? Get conquered by some Skatlic bastard of their overlord, wasn’t it?”

Constance took a breath. That was Wellin, firstly, and more importantly the story was rather more complicated than that, she thought. Correcting him did not seem proper – or wise. Aamir had not suggested he was quite such an idiot. Clearly he was testing her somehow.

“Skalt was not a country at the time, your highness.”

The look he gave her was withering. “It’s not a country now – it’s a hoard of savages wandering lands no one wants enough to take from them.”

“The same might have been said of Corval, a generation ago,” she said before she could stop herself. His expression froze only briefly. For a moment she thought she’d angered him. Then she realized it was more surprise.

“You will need to learn to be more circumspect,” he said, turning away. They were properly in the palace now, the carriage passing under the first set of walls. “You’re useless if you die before having a son, and the palace is not forgiving of mistakes.”

“My apologies,” she said, unable to think of what else to say. She remembered her mother’s pregnancy with Zinnia, and how she had very nearly died. The grief when Zinnia was shown to be a girl had been palpable – but never had her father suggested her mother was worthless. She had agreed to this marriage knowing the access to Corvali wealth would do untold good for her people, and thinking Aamir was cut from the same cloth as her father. Disinterested, but at least dutiful.

Already she felt the fool. If Aamir was dutiful, he hid it under cruelty.

The carriage clattered to a stop, distracting her. Through the sheer curtains she could see a small army of people waiting out there, most of them serious looking guards and other men. A small knot of women stood at the far end. When the door opened, she could see they were dressed in the manner of Corvali noblewomen, bright as song birds. They practically glittered in the late afternoon sun, and she felt a pang of dread. In comparison, her travelling dress was drab and borderline offensively informal, a soothing fawn linen with some soft pink detailing. The only ornamentation she wore was a necklace. Even her tiara was kept in the trunk for safety.

Next to her, Aamir’s door opened and he slipped out without saying a word to her. She waited, a little taken aback, but he never came around to her door.

“Your highness,” a warm male voice called her attention. It was a guard, with bright, almost silver eyes in a dark face. His beard was well kept, and made his eyes look all the more bright, and they complimented the dark blue and stark white of the imperial uniform. He had his hand out as if offering to help her down – but her tiara was sitting there. He smiled at her, eyes creasing. “His highness insisted.”

“Of course, thank you,” she said, donning it quickly. It struck her as very odd, that Aamir would take notice and care she did not have it. Odder still she hadn’t noticed him make the request. But then again, he wasn’t stupid. He was...playing at something. Carefully she placed it, wishing she had a mirror. The guard nodded approvingly when she finished – his hand still outstretch.

“My thank, again,” she said, taking it and stepping down carefully. Though the exchange took only a moment, it was enough for the players of this game to take their places. Aamir was back where he should be, waiting with his arm ready. She took it was a small curtsy.

“Time to meet your new family, your highness,” he said, none of his previous self showing. His eyes lingered briefly on her hair, and then back to her face.

“At your pleasure, your highness,” she said, and let him lead her through the throng.

 

* * *

 

His family was the gauntlet, she soon realized. She’d barely had time to meet the Emperor and his wife – or rather his first wife, Aamir’s mother – before she’d been whisked off for a quick cleaning.

“We’ll be taking an informal, late tea together,” the empress had said. “Before this evening’s excitement.” She was an imposing woman, with many of Aamir’s features. They made her look handsome rather than beautiful, and her expression made her look hard. The emperor was where Aamir got his colouring – and clearly both were responsible for his manners. They hadn’t even raised to greet her – as high a rank as one could be save leader of their own sovereign nation! “Of course, your ladies will be helping you get ready and I have the utmost faith in them.”

A murmur of thanks from behind her brought her attention to the women just outside the door. The women from the courtyard, looking no less colourful out of the sun than before. They bobbed a graceful curtsy in uniform.

“I wasn’t expecting to have a team already,” Constance said. Namely, she had expected to have some say in things. “Thank you, your highness.”

The empress’ smile was beautiful, but not comforting. “They are at your disposal. Now girls – treat her well.”

That was apparently a dismissal, because before she knew it a woman in bright greens and blues had her by the arm, guiding her away.

“We do hope you like your apartment your highness,” she said. “We had an Arlish advisor to help decorate it – and his royal highness Prince Aamir said you liked peonies.”

“I- yes,” she said, though she’d never told him that. “What is all this about excitement anyway?” she asked, unwilling to admit to ignorance over two topics, and so ignoring the question about how he knew her favourite flower. One of the ladies – a stunning beauty with a ruby red mouth and ravens wing hair kept piled high on her head laughed. She appeared to be older than Constance – and the oldest in the group.

“We’re nobody sure,” she said. “The Empress gave someone a mission of some sorts – Lady Roshan’s daughter, was it?”

“Yes,” Constance’s guide said. “Remember that name, ma’am. Lady Roshan has her highness’ ear as much as anyone does.”

“Indeed,” the other woman said. “As it is, my husband says they thought they spotted a glass worker running around this morning, in one of the gardens.”

“Your husband is a busybody, and liable to be dead before the season’s out,” another woman said. Her blonde hair was so bright it looked as if she had dyed it somehow. Constance’s face must have been startled, because the group of women all laughed, even the dark haired beauty.

“We’ve had a good decade,” she said, prompting Constance to nearly do a double take. She did not seem old enough for a decade of marriage, unless she married a few years younger than usual. She pat Constance on the arm in a way that managed to be patronizing. “Don’t be so startled dear, people will take advantage.”

“Oh,” Constance said, not sure what else to say. “I um, will endeavour not to. And to remember Lady Roshan’s name – perhaps I can get yours?”

Another round of tittering. “Oh how rude of us,” her guide said. “I’m lady Orfa, my father is admiral of the 2nd fleet.”

“Lady Mave,” the dark haired one said. “My husband is Lord Divos. You’ll meet him tonight.”

“My father won’t be,” lady Orfa said, “I’m afraid he’s unwell.”

“I am terribly sorry to hear that,” Constance said. Lady Orfa nodded.

“He is terribly old,” she admitted - “aren’t you two going to say anything? You’re never so quiet.”

“We cannot hope to compete with your wisdom, lady Orfa,” the sunny haired woman said. “I am Lady Myra.” She did not expound on that, “we are so pleased to have you among as, your highness.”

“Thank you Lady Myra,” Constance said, happy to be back on familiar ground. “I am pleased to be here.”

“Of course you are,” the final woman said. She was dressed entirely in white and pale, pale pink, which accentuated her deep skin tone and made her look almost like a doll. The liberal but somehow tasteful amount of rouge on her cheeks added to the effect. “Lady Kalisto. In her own right.”

“How delightful for you,” Constance said, not sure what else to say. It was not the sort of thing that happened often in Arland – and when it did the women did not brag.

“Not so delightful,” Lady Orfa said, “to think – all three of your brothers dying in those tragic accidents. I imagine your new title is quite the burden in the face of that.”

Lady Kalisto’s smile was soft, sad and somehow fake. “Indeed, but we soldier on as we must, no?”

 

* * *

 

Her rooms, she found, were settled at the end of a hall done in pink marble and gold accents. This was, apparently, the wing that held the emperor’s second and third wives – Princess Innes and Princess Bairu. They were flanked by gardens on every side it seemed. She was glad then that she did not share her sister’s tendancy to sneeze when exposed to anything floral – an irony for a girl named Zinnia.

The rooms themselves were gorgeous. Done in soft nearly white greys, gentle blues and peony-pink. The first room was obviously for greeting guests – not least because one had already let herself in. Or several guests, actually. The one who caught her eye however was the tall silver haired older woman imperiously ordering the other three around. They weren’t in the servant’s uniforms – and a quick look at her entourage suggested they hadn’t any more idea who this person was than she did.

“Ah you’re highness, you’re a bit early,” the woman said, turning mid-direction to face Constance. “No girl – put that away,” she then said, addressing a girl carrying a pink Corvali-style dress out of another room. Then her attention was back on Constance, eyeing her critically. “My information isn’t too off, I’d guess,” she said. “Depending on how tight your stay is. You four – you’ll take up too much room and your opinions won’t be needed. Skeddadle.”

“Excuse me,” Lady Myra said, an edge to her voice, “I don’t think we’ve been introduced. Lady Myra, of house Gohzen.”

“That’s nice dear,” the woman said, “you’re still useless to me, unless you’re a blindingly fast seamstress?" She did not let Lady Myra actually answer. “Of course not, at best you’re a fine embroideress. Your Highness, I am Mistress Sancha Demari – I’m the foremost expert in Arlish fashion in this city. I was hired on behalf of his highness to get you ready for your party tonight.”

Constance blinked. It did not seem entirely like Aamir to go to this trouble – but she supposed the no nonsense attitude of the woman aligned with his.

“Why would his highness hire outside of the imperial tailoring house?” Lady Kalisto asked.

“The guild is as well regarded as the imperial house,” the woman said. “But I don’t pretend to know poitics – I know fabrics and sewing and fashion. And that I told you four to shoo.”

“I thank you very much for your help so far ladies,” Constance said, turning to them. “However since I know little of fabrics or sewing, and truly do not have anything for any parties, I must agree with Mistress Demari. You are dismissed for now – I will summon you when I’m ready.”

For a moment she thought the four would protest, but finally Lady Myra took a curtsy, the other three behind her. Constance watched them file away – and was a touch flabberghasted when a fifth woman promptly took their place.

“Your Highness,” she said. “I see you have dismissed your ladies for the evening?”

“Just for the dressing,” Constance said. “Who are you?” It came out a touch less polite than she’d intended, but the woman did not blink.

“Jessa, at your service. I was sent to ascertain if your rooms had been checked.”

“A guard let us in and did a sweep,” Mistress Demari did.

Jessa smiled sweetly. “Excellent, did you get a name Mistress Demari?”

“I’m afraid not,” the woman said. “I suppose you’ll want another done?”

“That won’t be necessary,” the woman said, letting herself in and closing the door behind her. “I’ll just take that seat there, hm?”

“Of course you will,” Mistress Delmari said. “Very well – no more chit chat. Get into your shift so we can start, ma’am.”

Constance was too used to seamstresses and tailors to be offended by the blunt language. Besides, it was nice, in it’s own way, that Aamir was doing this for her.

 

* * *

 

 

Once Delmari was done she and “her girls” left, promising they would be back before nightfall for final fittings. The mysterious Jessa left when they did without a word which left Constance to do the one thing she’d been craving this whole time.

She curled up on the bed and cried.

Her time in Corval had been so short and already she was completely overwhelmed. There was too much – too much change, too much uncertainty too much newness. Nothing had been like she envisioned and she ached for the certainty of Arland like she never had before. She thought surely it couldn’t be so different – but it was. From the decorum to the way people smiled.

I want my mother.

But she couldn’t have her. She would have to learn to rely on herself, until she could discern what games Aamir was playing, what games the empress was playing...

Until she could discern why they thought he life and happiness were games at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have two Constances, rather than sharing one between my two Princesses. This Constance is the slightly more resilient of the two, so this can be read as Hope/Despair in that it can be either.


	7. something to meet with courage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lady Roshan of Corval has poor luck in love, but she chooses to look forward rather then dwell on it. Ft. the tiniest Zarad cameo ever.

Her footsteps did not echo as she walked down the hall, a bright, white clad figure against pink-white marble. The new hall was almost done, she noted, taking a moment to appreciate the flooring. The empress had demanded it be done in such a manner that it evoked flowers without being so gauche as to actually be flowers. The first attempt had not been to standard – indeed the Empress had found fault with the implementation and product both. The ensuing loss of life and time had added months to the reconstruction.

 

“I just heard the news,” a familiar, warm voice said. A moment later the Emperor’s younger wife stepped out, a book in hand. “I am sorry for your loss.”

 

Roshan smiled at the younger woman, fingers curling around her fan. She did not raise it, however. Such a thing was too obvious by half. “Thank you, your highness,” she said, “but the loss is not truly mine.”

 

A slight smile curved Innes’ generous mouth. “I suppose not, had you yet met M. Loïc?”

 

“We had tea, last month,” Roshan said. Her fiancé had been a handsome man, and seemed nice enough. There was little else to say about him, though. They had discussed nothing of consequence, not with their chaperones standing over their shoulders. And the other, secret meeting in a room that smelt of stale, hot air and illness. He hadn’t known her then – lost to fever and exhaustion. “He was very charismatic. His family will miss him dearly.”

 

“He was their lodestone, or so the rumours said,” Innes said, holding up her book. “I’ve been reading about geology. It allows me to know when the gardeners are lying about the feasibility of what I want.”

 

Not for the first time, Roshan felt the impulse to correct the Emperor’s second wife. Her play at being the ingenue was a touch too over wrought, though she was better than she had been a year ago. Now however, with the swell of a baby finally showing, she could do to be a bit more circumspect. She had another life resting on hers now, but Innes had married the Emperor barely into womanhood. In most things she was still a child, even if her carefully maintain curves and haughty cheekbones hid the fact well.

 

But Roshan knew her place – which was to serve her Empress. So, instead she said, “wouldn’t botany serve you better?” She aimed for a politely interested tone though it came out slightly strained. Innes sent her a pitying glance, amber eyes gleaming in the rich, golden light of late afternoon. She apparently mistook Roshan’s exasperation with some emotion or other regarding Loïc.

 

“Well, it’s not the plants they protest, but rather the rocks underneath them,” she said. “But forgive me. It is appalling to bring up such banal topics in light of such a monumental death.”

 

“Truly, I appreciate the smaller topics,” she said. “But as I said, Loïc was not mine and not mine to lose, for all the death of someone so young is a tragedy.”

 

“Forgive me, but I beg to differ,” Innes said, startling Roshan slightly. Innes took that moment to seize her by the arm and finally continue them down the hall. “I will take your word for it, of course, that Loïc’s loss is not a personal one for you, but you have lost all the same. An entire life had been laid before your feet and now, two months before it was to become a reality, it is gone. Don’t you wonder, what you might have had?”

 

The question was an astute one. Roshan smoothed her hand down her white skirt, trying to think. How long had it been since she donned white? Years, since she finished mourning her foster mother. No one had known then and no one knew now the significance of the colour – they did not care about the ways of desert tribesmen. So no one knew how much it rankled her that she wore the same dress now she had then. The next death, she would have to arrange for a second one.

 

Tomorrow though, it would be red. Though black was traditional here, Loïc was Revairin. After she’d visited him three nights passed she had gone straight to the most discreet dressmaker she knew and commissioned three dresses. The first was a proper Corvali mourning dress – replete with veil – and the others more suitable for day to day wear. They had been delivered last night. They had still been sat on her dressing chair when news that Loïc passed in deepest darkest night and Roshan repressed a shiver at the memory of the goosebumps they had given her.

 

It seemed an omen, of sorts. She briefly considered the fact she’d doomed poor Loïc with his kind smile and dancing hazel eyes, but banished the thought. Loïc’s death was a god’s whim and nothing more. No, her showing of loyalty was nothing more than that. Unless it was more. After all, she had red dresses already. What really drove her to slip into a particularly discrete dressmaker’s late at night and choose bright, vermillion, _arterial_ red silk? Especially when maroons and burgundies favoured her better.

 

“A touch, perhaps,” she said. “He had a beautiful smile.” After their first meeting, she’d dreamed of the children in the future, with her signature eyes and his smile and the world at their feet. “I was not opposed to seeing it every day.”

 

Innes hummed. “I dream, you know, about him,” she looked down at her stomach. “Sometimes he is the spitting image of his father, sometimes he is mine. Others, he is the perfect blend and I wake up desperately wishing to finally see him but also dreading the day.” She smiled softly, “once he is born, the endless possibilities will coalesce into reality. I won’t be able to picture him with my father’s lanky height, or his own father’s broad shoulders. He will be himself, and that will be that.”

 

“Well then, perhaps you are losing more than me,” Roshan said with a hint of dark humour. “We will always have those maybes and almosts.” She eyed the deceptively small bump again. “You’re quite certain it’s a boy, then?”

 

“Her Imperial Highness can shave my head if I’m wrong,” Innes said, tossing her perfect, loosely curled golden blonde hair as she spoke.

 

“I do hope you haven’t told her that,” she said and the girl laughed.

 

“I am not quite that daft,” she said. They reached the end of the hall. One door led to a garden that lay on one side of the royal residences. Opposite that, to the right it lead to a garden for the ladies such as Roshan herself and the door at the very end lead to the apartments that included her suit. A month from now, some other her would be packing to go to the apartments that allowed men in them, further down the hill. Here at the zenith of the Inner Court the only men allowed were at the Empress’ discretion. Which meant hand picked guards, her sons, the Emperor and the occasional assassin. Even then female assassins were preferred – far less likely to be noticed in a female dominated palace.

 

“I wouldn’t think so,” Roshan agreed. “Does your physician say when he’s due, then?”

 

“Before the next full moon,” she said. Roshan nodded. That was less than two weeks away. Innes looked down ruefully. “Not that you’d know,” she added.

 

“Every woman is different,” Roshan said. It was trite, but true. “So long as he’s healthy, little else matters, your highness.”

 

“Too true,” Innes said. “Rest well, lady Roshan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 7 - Future
> 
> Ignore the fact I made my future story take place the furthest in past of any of them >.>


End file.
